


Skin to Bone

by Pinchofpoison



Category: Loki - Fandom, Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Childhood Friends, Coming of Age, Comrades, F/F, F/M, Family Confict, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Future Romance, Growing Up Together, Illusions, Late night shenanigans, Learning Magic, Magic, Master and Apprentice, Sibling Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sparring, Teaching, Telepathy, Training, black sheep, library cat, loki is oddly protective, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-06-08 22:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinchofpoison/pseuds/Pinchofpoison
Summary: Isn't it lovelyAll aloneHeart made of glassMy mind of stoneTear me to piecesSkin to boneAsta, Daughter of Odin's greatest and most trusted adviser, was a noblewoman. She was prim, proper and ladylike, all what her mother wanted. But that was hardly her. For she had burning passion to learn the arts of magic. She meets Loki who see her potential and takes Asta under his wing.





	1. Prologue

The candle light illuminated his body as he caressed the spine of the journal while sitting on a fine leather chair. He brought the bookmark towards the light and inspected it. The fine object was luscious shamrock green but in the obscurity of the night, it shun black. With sliver snakes on the corresponding sides of bookmark, he smiled with mirth in reminiscence of the day he got said gift.

_“What is this for” a younger version of him said in confusion as the item was shoved in his hands._

_“A gift of thanks.” The little girl beamed as green eyes looked confused as ever. He look at the bookmark and then back at her. Truthfully, this was the first thing he ever received from someone who was not related to him. He didn’t know what to feel._

_“It might not be as extravagant as your usual gifts-“she started sheepishly,_

_“No” He cut her off and met her eyes, “It is wonderful.”_

_She stared in awe as it was the first time she saw the young prince; the reserved, anti-social boy to smile ear to ear with eyes full of joy and tear?.._

_“Are you alright.” She started to panic. It was not every day you saw him cry._

_“No no, Asta, I am fine. Truthfully, more than fine. It is just that no one has ever given me anything besides my family.” He said as he wipes any tear in his ducts with is sleeve. Asta’s heart softened at the sight and grabbed his risen hand with hers, capturing his attention with a smile._

_“Well now there is, Loki”_

Who knew time could pass so fast.

Loki turned the bookmark around and read the words that became his mantra to fend off the demons of his mind,

_Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,_

_So do our minutes hasten to their end;_

_Each changing place with that which goes before,_

_In sequent toil all forwards do contend.._

Replaying the words again he remembered every prank, laugh and joke he shared with her and lulled himself into a dreamless sleep


	2. First snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asta knew she was free the minute she entered the room. Her father was busy with council work and assisting Odin and her mother would be busy gossiping with the other court ladies. This gave her ample time to explore and immerse herself in what was forgotten.

It was first snow when I met him.

III

Asta knew she wasn’t normal.

Her mother made it quite clear. From her dark luscious hair to her blue flicked green eyes; far from the normal Asgardian look. People talked, that was an obvious, but one look at the younger prince and all gossip dispersed.

In her adolescences, she never quite understood why her mother ignored her; why she distanced herself from loving Asta, why she always held that look of disdain. Her father paid attention to her and loved her like a father should. However Asta couldn’t help but to feel sadden by the idea that her mother didn’t love her.

She did her best to please her parents. She excelled at her studies. Acted like a lady should. She was a puppet and let her mother hold the strings. Though they were good to her, never once mentioned her odd hair color nor minded it. But there was one attribute they despised;

Her magic

Maybe that’s why Asta’s mother looked at her like that

 

III

Outside the wind blew steadily from the north, driving snow against the golden columns and palace. By midday three inches settled on the grounds of Asgard. A snow so ethereal, it could hardly be said to have settled at all; instead it swirled like some icy fog, like breath of ghosts, up and down the streets- powdery dust devils, frosted puffs of ivory cloud, spiraling tendrils of white smoke.

The people hurried themselves to their houses as they wrapped themselves with covers to protect themselves from the harsh winds. By noon the smell of the sea was eviscerated, the sight of its mist depleted, too; one’s field of vision narrowed the sight close, went blurry and snowbound, fuzzy and opaque, the sharp scent of frost burned the nostrils of those who ventured out of doors. The snow flew up from their knee length leather boots as they struggled, heads down. When they looked out into the whiteness of the world the wind flung itself sharply at their narrowed eye and foreshortened their view of everything.

Asta was numb.

Not of the cold. Not of the violent winds that trashed against her body, not by the cool digits of air that racked through her hair and flapped around her pale collarbone.

Two days had passed since the genocide of her precious books. She still got chills as she remembered the stone cold look in her mother's eyes as she ripped the neck of each book and threw them in the blazing fire. If the salty sea could freeze and keep its color, it would have been the shade of her mother's eyes. They were as clever as ever, as direct as ever, but they were further colored by an idiosyncratic shade that Asta had never seen before, that she could not identify, or would not.

Two days had passed since her mother had found her material concerning the arts of magic. Two days dawdled, cooped up in her room on house arrest.

Now standing in the hallways of the palace with the snow filled gardens as her only scenery, her mind flickered back to the day her mother had caught her practicing magic in her room. The sadness and betrayal she felt as her mother burned her prized possessions and the bond she had with her daughter.

With a whimper escaping her lips, Asta hastily wiped the tears the threatened to slide down her rosy cheeks. She forced her herself to usher the determination and not let her pessimistic mind weigh her down. Her dainty feet turned and moved forward to her destination.

Out of the north, southbound, on its feathered sails, a great horned owl, as pale as it was immense, swooped low and silent across the garden, then rowed itself higher into the sky, much higher and away.

III

The wind hurling against the tinted windows. A faint glow from the candles, perched on the stand, illuminated the library. The scent of musky paper and old books engulfed the room as a body laid it self comfortably on one of the loveseats, with one leg crossing the other and lean figures turning each page with unknown grace. Verdant eyes, skimming through each sentence with speed but at the same time drinking each syllable like a hungered beast with a thirst that can’t be vanquished, twitched as they sensed unfamiliar presence in the room.

Three bookshelves away Asta gapping in awe, twirled slowly, taking in the breathtaking library in one go. Her heart pounded in excitement of being surrounded by so many books, her hands trembled by just thinking of reading such literature. Soft padded sounds ricocheted in the silent library, save for the storm outside; it almost felt as is Asta entered a new realm. Her fingers traced the spines of the familiar books that crossed her path; rejoicing with her old friends.

Asta knew she was free the minute she entered the room. Her father was busy with council work and assisting Odin and her mother would be busy gossiping with the other court ladies. This gave her ample time to explore and immerse herself in what was forgotten. By the time Asta collected her thoughts, she reached her favored destination; a large mahogany book shelf loomed over her with ancient aseir knowledge on the arts of magic. Already knowing each book’s place by heart, she stretched out her hand to the mid shelf, to grab the scripture of mysticism, only to grab air and her palm flapping about the base of the shelf. Confusion seeped through every pore, as her looked up to inspect the disappearance. Not many people practiced magic in Asgard, saying it was demonic and only bring evil with it. Ignoring the fact that the healers too used magic.

Her blue eyes widened as they found the book that the very top shelf. Gulping any saliva left in her mouth, her mind raced with ways to get the book down without falling or making a fool out herself. Turning her head sideways frantically to see no one was watching, she made her move

III

While Asta tried to get the book down, green eyes followed her every movement. The owner seemed amused as she stood on her shoe’s tips to reach the shelf but alas she was too short. He even had to stifle a laugh when she started to jump and landed on her back when she failed. It was when she started to climb the book shelf, he got up and decided to help her before she took the shelf down with her.

III

Frustrated huffs of air escaped her lips as she stomped her foot. Displeasure ran course through her veins. Just as she was about to give up and move to the telepathy section, green mist started to appear and circulate her. The smell of forest dew and mint invaded her nostrils as the smoke embraced her and twirled around. It soon stretched its tendrils towards the shelf and engulfed the book she, so desperately tried to reach. However, as the mist brought it down it didn’t go toward her. Rather it flowed past her and a voice broke her reverie; startling her.

“I believe this is yours?” A _slivery_ voice rang out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you reader my other story as well: Hysteria  
> Sorry for any errors


End file.
